Saturday Morning Cartoons
By Dr. Pepper 14
Summary: Slash. We're just two horny teenaged boys. We don't know what the hell we're doing. But that's okay, it's more fun this way.
I awake to the crisp snap of bacon against my thigh as I roll over to bury my face into my pillow in such a way that I can barely breathe, hiding my face from the intruding sun peeking in through the blinds of my window as though it were trying to rape my eyes.
The remaining air in my lungs whooshes out as 160 pounds of teenaged male plop onto my back like a beached whale. I squeak as icy cold fingers travel down my ribs, poking a little at my sides to rouse me like an ice pick digging into a block of ice.
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, you look like an iguana…" Clay begins, each verse punctuated by a sharp jab to my side.
"Stop it," I snarl, grabbing his finger and twisting a little.
"Ow! Jeez, you do something nice for people…" he mutters to himself, again knocking the air out of my lungs as he pushes down on my back for leverage to climb off of me.
I can hear the sound of Clay shifting things around as I roll over onto my back and stretch my arms above me, keeping my eyes closed the entire time. I begin to open my eyes in small increments, squinting in annoyance at the boy sitting on the edge of my bed and staring at me.
"What are you doing?" I ask, everything still kind of blurry in my eyes, hugging a pillow to my chest.
"Didn't your mom ever tell you not to wear a busy with a busy?" he says, taking in my plaid boxers and polka-doted t-shirt with a small smirk. "And I made you a birthday breakfast."
"Yeah, well, at least my mom doesn't dress me like yours-" I pause, replaying his words in my head, "What?"
The realization doesn't register in my mind fast enough for me to avoid the fork flying through the air as Clay demands in his intercom voice "prepare for landing, open the hanger" and shoves a heaping forkful of food through my surprised lips.
Clay's hand smacks me on the back as I choke on the piece of pancake, clutching at his arms as I hack-up a delicious blend of bread, butter, and maple syrup.
"Slow down there, tiger," he says, coming to sit next to me on my bed with his back against the headboard, "the antelope isn't going anywhere."
I sigh and grab my plate of "birthday pancakes", slathering on some more maple syrup and unintentionally dripping some onto Clay's leg (and I don't feel bad at all). I can tell that Clay made them himself because some of them are burnt and some of them are nearly batter and none of them resemble anything round at all.
My arm "accidentally" brushes against Clay's as we eat, the comforter that got pushed to the end of my bed as I slept keeping our toes nice and toasty as we enjoy breakfast in bed. My mind begins to wander, imagining Clay and I eating in bed together twenty years into the future, squabbling over who gets the last burnt cactus shaped pancake, using a combination of a thumb war and rock paper scissors to decide the victor.
I wonder what Clay and I will be like in twenty years if I ever get enough balls to tell him I lov- want to rock his world. I wonder if we'll live together…
My foot launches out of my hiding place behind the coat rack as soon as he comes through the big wooden door with the intent of making him fall right on his pretentious, lying face, but he easily invades me, not even sparing me a glance as he calmly walks past me and into the kitchen.
"Where are my tootsie pops?" I demand to know, slamming the refrigerator door closed as soon as he opens it.
"Where is my hat?" he counters, sidestepping me and walking over to the cabinet to grab a granola bar.
"It's in the laundry room, you dumbass," I tell him, grabbing the granola bar out of his hand and taking a huge bite.
"Oh," he says with a sheepish smile, walking back over to the fridge and grabbing the last vanilla pudding out of it before I can slam it in his face.
"Tootsie pops?" I hear myself starting to hyperventilate, squeezing the life out of the granola bar as though if I were to squeeze it hard enough, it would magically turn into a nice, fruity, long-lasting tootsie pop with a yummy chocolaty center.
"Robbie, chill," he says, handing me some goldfish and forcefully sitting me down at the kitchen table, pushing down on my shoulders.
"Where the fuck's my candy?" I whine, smashing the little goldfish one at time, reveling in their screams as I pound them into the table.
"If you're going to make me go to the grocery store like some fucking housewife, then I'm gonna buy what I want. Besides, who brings home the bacon in this family?" he says, seemingly unperturbed by our conversation as he methodically wipes a suspicious stain off the kitchen counter.
"Well, you were supposed to bring the fucking bacon home so I could make Cat her favorite casserole," I force out of my tight lungs as I squish some poor little fish's uncle, and their brother, and their fourth-grade swim teacher, "and you were supposed to bring home some tootsie pops. That's all I asked. Buy all the fucking beer and vegetables and whatever the hell else you want. But you couldn't do either, could you!?"
Without answering, he comes over to me and straddles my lap, staring mischievously into my eyes as he pulls an orange tootsie pop out of his back pocket, brushes it off a little, and sticks it into my mouth.
"I bought you a whole bag," he says with a little snicker, "you just look funny when you get all worked up like this."
I bring my arms around his waist so he doesn't fall off the chair, digging my fingers into his belt loops.
"Robbie?" he says, fingering my hips.
"What?" I say as I snap into focus, catching his hand before it travels down my pants.
"Can I have your birthday bacon?" he asks, wiggling the fingers of the hand I have in my grasp against the waistband of my boxers, my skin twitching where he touches me.
"No," I retaliate, fishing the bacon out of my underwear and hiding it under my bed.
"But you don't even eat bacon!" he whines, indignant, lower lip sticking out like a bird perch.
I flick his lip lightly with my other hand, trying to make it go back to normal because it's really distracting… "Then why did you make it for me?"
"I dunno," he shrugs, shoulders coming up towards his ears, "it just seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Besides," he says, the pointer finger on his free hand trailing down my chest, "You're looking kind of anemic, man. You need some fucking protein."
My head tilts down to watch his finger trail down my chest, the skin under my shirt burning in its wake. I don't even notice when that hand comes back up to flick me on the nose.
"Gotcha," he says.
There's a moment now when I realize just how long my fingers have been circling his wrist, the pad of my thumb pressed against the warm pulse under the skin. He doesn't seem to mind either- his hand is slack in my grasp, eyes smiling at me.
"Clay? I, um, have to tell you something," I breathe out, my voice squeaking embarrassingly at the end of my brave admission.
"Yeah?" he replies, blue eyes the color of toothpaste (the peppermint kind, not the spearmint kind) finding mine and holding on way too long. Actually, it's kind of uncomfortable. "What?"
We just sit there, staring at each other.
It's not one of those romantic gazing into each other's eyes sort of things, it's more like an oh shit, this is it sort of thing. I'm terrified. I try to force the words out of my mouth but my lungs have completely closed off and instead I shut my open-hanging jaw, paralyzed by his eyes pinning my ass to this particular spot on the bed, right next to him, foot nervously kicking against his sock-covered one.
I can almost convince my self that I see recognition in his eyes as he looks down at my hand gripping his then back up at my face, but it's gone before I can be sure. He licks his lips and lifts one eyebrow, silently commenting on the fact that I have yet to tell him anything at all. I follow the path of his tongue with my eyes, wondering what it would taste like if I placed my lips right there, what it would feel like…
I let go of his hand like it's on fire.
"Call a doctor!" I scream, before I realize that my hand isn't, in fact, on fire but merely faking pain to get attention (which I ignore).
"Why?" he asks, one side of his mouth quirking up, placing his warm hand against my forehead. He picks up an empty cup off my bedside table, puts it against my back, and then presses his ear against it as if he were listening for my heartbeat.
"You seem fine to me," he says, stroking his chin in a thoughtful way. "Shall I check your vitals?"
I don't like the look on his face, like I'm in for a world of pain, or more like he wants to devour me, and whatever it is, I know right away that I need to get away. He lunges towards me and I dive out of the way, smacking my head on the headboard as I go.
"Ow…" I whine, rubbing my head and trying to roll to the side. I'm not quick enough, you know, with my head injury and all, and pretty soon Clay has me on my back, wrists pinned above my head. With one hand. Just because he plays basketball and actually exercises… God, I hate being the weak one.
"I almost forgot!" he whispers to me, his voice hoarse and kind of menacing sounding (and I have no idea why this turns me on other than the fact that I'm a teenager and pretty much everything gets me going nowadays, but I know that I have to get him off me and quick). "I haven't given you your birthday spankings yet." His hand inches towards me and I try to squirm out of the way, squeaking in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice and kicking at him. "What kind of friend am I?"
"Um, the kind that doesn't hold his friend to the bed and spank him!?" I shriek. Woah, that's kinkier than I meant it to be.
Let me paint you a picture, so you can see exactly what we look like.
The sheets are rumpled from our wrestling, half of my comforter is on the floor and the other half is stuck beneath me, bunched under my back in an almost uncomfortable way (not that I really notice this). We're stretched out on the bed, my head conveniently lying on my pillow. Clay's knees are pressed against the outsides of mine and he's poised above me, leaning downwards with his weight balanced on the hand holding my wrists while the other hand tries to get to my ass hidden by my sheets.
It's not what it looks like, but god how I wish it was. It's like something straight out of a wet dream (or, um, it would be, if I had those). Clay's rumpled hair from rolling around in my bed shields his eyes a little as he looks down at me with purse-lipped concentration. His shirt is rucked up, revealing his very very attractive stomach and the line of hair going down down down. And that's exactly what I'm doing right now, letting my eyes follow that trail down to a very happy place indeed.
Of course, this is exactly when my mom walks in.
"Happy bir-" She stops in her tracks, the latter half of the word trailing off into silence.
This is where her eyes get wide and her jaw drops down, her gasp sounding more like choking than pleasant surprise. Something tells me she wasn't expecting this when she came in.
"Hi, Mrs. Joel," Clay states cheerfully as if there is nothing wrong with the situation, waving with the hand that just minutes earlier was dead set on getting a piece of my ass.
"I didn't see you come in," she says tight-lipped, smiling in a way only I know means so not happy right now.
"Uh. Yeah. I climbed through the window," he answers her, letting go of my wrists.
"Of a second story house?" she puzzles. "…Nevermind. Robbie, can I talk to you in the hall outside, sweetie?"
Oh shit, she called me sweetie.
"Um, yeah," I breathe as I exhale, frantically trying to think of an excuse better than "Clay was trying to spank me". "Clay," I mutter out of the corner of my mouth, nudging him a little. He doesn't move.
"Clay," I whisper a bit louder when he doesn't get off me, pushing at his shoulders.
He scrambles off the bed, going over to fuck with my computer while I follow my mom with my tail between my legs. Instead of stopping in the hallway, she continues into the TV room, stopping right in the middle of the floor and turning to face me.
"Robbie," she sighs, pressing her thumb, index, and middle fingers between her eyebrows. "I'm not mad, I'm just… concerned."
"Mom, please-" I begin desperately.
"Robbie, hunny," she says, cutting me off, "we talked about this and you know I love and support you whether you're straight or gay or-"
"Well, as long as you're not some psycho-killer-"
"I'm not!" I squeak, but she continues on, not listening to a single protest.
"But I'm sorry, it is not okay with me for you and Clay to fool around in my house. In any house. Now it's not as if I'm saying your father didn't give me… a birthday surprise or two-"
"I wish you wouldn't."
"But, well, I am an adult and you are a child whether you want to admit it or not. You're too young, Robbie! Do you even know the proper way to use protection? Oh god, do you use protection?"
"But Clay and I aren't- we didn't-"
"Look hunny, I'm happy for you. I really am. Lord knows you've been pinning over Clay ever since puberty hit, but keep it pg from now on, won't you?" she asks, hands running through her hair in subdued frustration.
All I can do is nod emphatically, too shocked to say a word (which could potentially set her off again anyway). I feel like I should tell her that Clay and I aren't together, but for some reason I don't. A thought surfaces in the back of my mind, warning me that this could potentially bite me in the ass in the future, but I decide I don't care.
"Happy birthday," she says and smiles, kissing my forehead. "Now go have fun with your friends. Don't forget we're having lunch with your grandmother tomorrow!" she calls after me as I race up the stairs and trip on a pair of Nike socks.
"Clay," I say as soon as I run through the door and slam it behind me, mostly because I can't think of anything else to say.
I go over to my desk to stand behind him while he plays FreeCell on my computer. "Clay, can we get out of here?" I whine, tugging at a lock of his hair.
"Hold on," he mumbles, brushing my hand away. "I'm totally kicking this game's ass right now."
I sigh dramatically and fold my arms over my chest.
He looks back at me. "Sorry," he mutters sheepishly, turning off my computer. "Let's go."
He tries to drag me out of the room but thankfully I realize that I'm still in my pajamas before it's too late and rectify that fact, throwing on some pants and finding a t-shirt somewhere near my bathroom that doesn't look or smell too funky. Clay approves.
"What was that all about?" he asks, referring to my mother and her face spasms.
"I dunno," I lie while I tie up my shoe laces, double knotting them just in case. "She wouldn't let me get a word in. Let's just forget about it."
He gives me an inquiring look as we walk towards his car is if he still isn't satisfied, but eventually he shrugs and drops it like he always does. See, that's why we get along, he's not a nagging little shit like his sister is.
"My lady," he says after he opens the passenger door, bowing and motioning for me to get in.
"Hey, can I drive?" I ask, trying to take the keys out of his hands.
"I guess so," he sighs, handing them over to me with a pouty frown. "You are the birthday princess and all."
"So, where are we going?" I start the car and move the seat up, cursing my short(er) legs for being retarded and unable to reach the peddles.
"I dunno," he mumbles, fiddling with the air conditioning. "Maybe we should go to the grocery store and get food for your party."
I blink and try to ignore the way the air is blowing straight at my eyes, making them water. And then I just make it aim at Clay. "Okay."
"You know, you look kinda funny when you drive," he says, turning towards me to give me a full view of his grin. "You get this determined look on your face like your about to conquer something."
"Yeah, that's right. Move out of the way, road, because I'm comin' through," I declare, glaring at the road for effect. I pause. "Actually no, stay right where you are, because I am driving on you."
The road doesn't seem very intimidated and continues on like it always has, doing its best to make me get lost, even if its only to the grocery store (the same one I've been going to since I was eight).
After that I'm not much up for conversation, too distracted by thoughts of the guy sitting next to me. He means more to me than anything else ever has, I know that, but that just makes things even more complicated. Am I willing to risk our friendship just because I want to get into his pants? The need to kiss him, fuck him, just fucking hold him gets stronger every day and I don't know how much longer I can go on the way things are.
I want more. God do I want more. It's all I can think about, getting my hands on those perfect hips, pulling him close to me, and just going to town on his mouth. I think my right hand has gotten more action in the last few months than everyone in this entire city combined.
But even if we do somehow end up together, who's to say it will last? The odds are definitely against us. If something happened and we weren't friends anymore… that would just fucking suck. I won't let that happen.
I turn the music up loud and Clay seems content to lay his head back and close his eyes, thrumming his fingers to the music.
Clay glares down the cereal isle, crossing his arms in frustration and because he is cold.
"What is this shit?" he whines angrily. "Jesus, I just want some fucking potato chips."
"We need some salsa," I add, simultaneously trying to figure out where we are and where the chips are.
"We need a woman," he growls.
I have to admit, that wasn't exactly what I was thinking at the moment, and I really don't see what women have to do with salsa, but he looks angry so I just nod.
"Look around you. How many guys do you see?" he asks me, gesturing around the store in a really obvious manner. "Yeah. None."
Actually, I do see a few here and there… there's some guy checking out the beer isle and some guy buying cereal, and one buying raspberry yogurt (…what the hell?).
"That's because it takes a woman to handle such a…" he pauses and looks around the store, "delicate situation," he finishes awkwardly.
"Are you trying to say shopping is for girls?" I ask with a cheeky grin.
"Yeah, pretty much." Some lady checking out the Reese Puff cereal huffs and slams the cereal into her shopping cart.
"Should we ask a sales representative for help or something?" I offer, picking up a box of oatmeal that is definitely not salsa.
"No!" he squeals, plastering himself up against the shelves and looking around. "They'll cut me up and sell me in the meat department!"
I roll my eyes and push him into the next isle. "You're fucking retarded, you know that, right?" I say, shoving my phone into his hands. "Fine, you can call Dani then."
I tap my feet on the white linoleum floor, waiting for her to pick up, and this really isn't how I meant to spend my birthday, stuck in the grocery store with Clay while he freaks out about food.
"What do we get!" he screams into the phone.
"Cheese dip," I hear clearly over the phone, her voice sounding confused and a little bit scared.
"Cheese dip," he repeats, sounding enlightened. "Yeah, definitely the cheese dip. Uh, where is the chip isle?"
"Isle three, dumbass. God, are you completely helpless?"
"Wait, no, is Robbie there with-"
"Let's go", he says tossing my phone back to me and running off towards isle three.
Clay drops me off at Dani's house with four bags full of food and a promise that he will come back for my party after basketball practice. I'm tempted to ask to go with him, mostly because the prospect of being alone with Dani and Brandy kinda scares me, but when I think about sitting in the bleachers for three hours, watching as he gets sweatier and sweatier as he and his teammates fight over a bunch of sweaty orange balls, seeing his muscles strain in his practice jersey… well, I think it's best if I don't.
As soon as I open Dani's heavy screen door and walk into her kitchen, I know something is wrong. Maybe it's the strong smell of burnt cake wafting through the house, or maybe it's the cheesy streamers strewn about, but it's probably the way Dani and Brandy are leaning against the sink side-by-side with their arms crossed over their chests and their determined faces on.
"You're making a move tonight, buddy," Dani says, stepping forward and poking me hard on the chest. "We're sick of hearing you whine about Clay like a little bitch."
"Yeah," Brandy chimes in, snickering a little. "Actually," he says, "I think it's kinda funny, but she wouldn't really let me disagree with her."
"I don't whine-" I begin.
"Shut up!" she says, pressing her fingers against my lips and pressing a hand to her heart. "As your friend, I can not let you go on like this anymore. This is what you're going to do," she tells me as though she's doing me a favor, handing me a Winnie the Pooh sippy-cup, "You're going to get him drunk, cozy up a little, and fucking take him down."
"Ah ah ah," she tisks, slapping her whole hand against my mouth harder this time, "Fucking take him down."
"Okay," I say so she'll let me go, retreating into the other room. I decide to go hide in the bathroom because it's the only room that has a lock.
"Shit," I mumble, banging my forehead against the mirror.
I take a sip out of my sippy-cup and nearly spit it out into the sink. "Eww." That is not apple juice.
I shrug and take another sip, tipping my head back so it just kind of pours down my throat and doesn't touch my tongue that much. I have a feeling I'm going to need it tonight. I sit down on the lid of the pink porcelain toilet and let my head fall back against the flower-wallpapered wall.
"So," I say to the mirror, trying not to look at my reflection and instead looking over my shoulder at the picture of Dani building a sandcastle as a child. She has a seashell up her nose. "So, Clay, I like you a lot and I, uh… I want to fuck you and I think you want to fuck me so we should…. fuck."
A little to obvious maybe?
I sigh, holding my hands out, pleading with the mirror.
"Okay," I breathe, willing myself to relax. "Um, Clay, I have this friend and let's just say he's… gay. And my friend has a friend but he doesn't know if he's gay or not but he would like to know, you see, because he really likes his friend. If I was my friend and you were his friend, what should I do?"
Uh… too vague? He'd probably get confused and then just tune me out. Damnit.
"Clay," I say seriously, gripping the corners of the counter as though they were his shoulders. "I'm gay. I really like you and I have for a long time. I just thought you should know."
Hmm, short and sweet. I like it. I can do this. I can-
"Holy mother of God, Robbie Joel, if you don't open this door right now I'm going to call the police!" I hear Dani scream as she pounds on the door.
I raise an eyebrow and open the door, dodging her fist as it comes down to hit the door again. "What?"
"Robbie," she says with wild eyes, looking at me like I'm crazy. "I've been trying to get your attention for the last ten minutes."
"Sorry," I shrug. "I guess I didn't realize you were yelling for me."
"You know what," she says as she grabs me by the sleeve of my shirt and drags me into the living room to help her get ready for the party, "one of these days you're going to accidentally rape someone and not even realize it. You never pay attention to anything."
"How do you accidentally rape someone?" I scoff, filling a big bowl with the potato chips we bought earlier.
"One moment you're watching TV," she starts, grabbing a bunch of movies from a big pile next to the TV and stacking them on the coffee table, "next thing you know it's like 'Hey, where am I? Where did my pants go?' and then you realize there's some poor sucker tied to the bed screaming no-"
"Okay," I cut her off. "Jesus."
Brandy comes into the room and sits down next to me on the floor, throwing an arm around my waist. "Oh, our little Robbie's growing up and coming out and… I remember when he was just a little tyke…" he gasps, sounding like he's about to cry.
"No you don't. I'm older than you."
"Hey, do you still want a stripper for your birthday?" he wonders thoughtfully. "Cause I know some guys you'd really like. I can totally hook you up."
"Um, no Brandy. No. I'm good." I tell him, patting him on the head.
"Or maybe you don't want a stripper," he ponders out loud, his hand snaking up my shirt, his little tongue licking at my neck. "Maybe you want something better."
"Brandy, get off me," I laugh, squeezing his knee and making him jump.
"That's perfect!" he squeals, jumping to his feet. "Except for the part where you tell me to stop." He looks down at me on the floor.
"What do you mean?" I ask skeptically, picking at a string hanging from the hem of my shirt.
"I don't know why I didn't think of this before," he says, smacking his palm to his forehead. "We're gonna make him jealous."
"Clay doesn't get jealous," I say. "Especially over me. That's just weird."
"Robbie, seriously, are you kidding me? Why do you think he hates me so much?" he asks with a smug grin.
"Because you stalked him?" I answer incredulously.
"Because you put up with Brandy," Dani interjects. "Duh."
"This is stupid. Clay doesn't even know about the whole gay thing yet, don't you think it will freak him out a little if Brandy and I start making out on the couch?"
"I can do subtle," Brandy says with a mischievous grin, winking at me.
I don't know why this surprises me, and I guess it doesn't really, but Brandy's idea of subtle is sitting plastered to my side with one hand on my lower back, fingers practically down the back of my pants, and the other on my knee. At least he isn't kissing my neck. The bad thing is, I don't even think it's working. Clay looks unfazed.
We're all sitting in Dani's living room, on the couch, on the floor, watching movies and trying our best to get shit-faced drunk as I open my birthday presents. We all have different reasons- Monroe does it to forget about school (though when he's drunk all he talks about is how much he hates tests and homework until one of us tells him to shut the fuck up), Jordan does it to understand the artistic genius of movies ("Yeah, they make more sense that way"), Dani does it just for fun, I'm doing it because otherwise I'll never have the courage to do what I set out to do tonight (oh shit), Brandy does it because it doesn't really affect him (he's always this frisky), and Clay… I don't know why Clay's doing it, he's just sitting on the other side of the couch, silently sipping his "propel" and frowning at the wall.
"Open mine first!" Brandy orders, reaching across me to grab it and drop it in my lap.
I rip the wrapping paper with caution, peering carefully under it. "Um, thanks Brandy." Cigarettes. And Porn. Well, I guess it could have been worse. A lot worse. Wait… what? Boobs? Did he buy me a playboy?
"The good stuff's underneath," he whispers in my ear so no one else can hear. Oh.
"I don't smoke…" I say picking up the cigarettes and turning them around in my hand.
"I know," he says, grabbing them out of my hand and lighting one for himself. "I just figured with you turning eighteen and all… hey, if you don't want them, I do." He shoves them in his pocket with a shrug.
The rest of my presents are uneventful- cds, random junk, that kind of stuff and at this point I'm too drunk to care. All I do is sit there and stuff my face with chips and salsa and the peanut butter cookies that Dani made for me. According to plan, Dani continues to fill my sippy-cup and Clay's too, paying special attention to our state of drunkenness but I don't think anyone really notices. I'm vaguely aware of leaning against Brandy, laughing my ass off about something even though I don't think it's really funny.
"Hey, we need a piñata," Clay declares, poking Dani in the arm as though she is to blame.
"Yeah," Dani agrees, poking him back. "Let's tie Brandy from the ceiling fan and hit him with a baseball bat and see if he coughs up candy."
"No, he'd probably enjoy that," Clay sneers.
Brandy blows him a kiss and I feel his arm tighten around me. We forget the piñata idea.
Every sip from my Winnie the Pooh cup makes me more and more dizzy but it's a good kind of dizzy. Life is good. We go swimming in Dani's pool in our underwear, we watch more movies, and that's about all I'm aware of.
It's about four o'clock in the morning and everyone has pretty much passed out by now. Jordan and Monroe dropped in a pile somewhere in the backyard like a bunch of puppies, Dani in the kitchen, and I somehow managed to drag my ass over to the couch.
I'm about to fall asleep when I hear a noise and groggily get to my feet. It's Clay.
"Hey, Robbie," he says as if he's surprised to see me, slurring his words a little bit.
"Hey." I am smooth.
I think for a moment. There was something I was supposed to tell him, but I don't really remember. "I have something important to tell you."
"Yeah? What," he asks, rubbing his eyes.
"Um," I try to think. "I can't remember. I'll tell you tomorrow."
"Okay," he shrugs, "So, I guess you didn't get a stripper for your birthday like you wanted," he says, patting my shoulder like he's sorry.
"No, I didn't really want one," I tell him, shrugging, my world tilting to the right a little bit. Woah. "I lied. I don't like girls. I'm gay." A warning bell goes off in my head, but I'm not really sure why.
"Really? Me too," he tells me, smiling. "I like dick." He starts giggling.
"I'm gonna take a nap now," I yawn, grabbing the front of his shirt and dragging him down to the couch with me. "I'm cold so you're gonna have to be my blanket."
Clay is draped over me, his chin poking me in the collarbone, and his breath smells kinda gross, like salsa and beer.
"Robbie," he whispers, poking me in the chest. "Are you and Brandy fucking now?"
"I'm sleeping," I whine, refusing to open my eyes as they get heavier and heavier and heavier...
"Robbie. Robbie," he says.
I open my eyes to see Clay holding himself above me, his face barely inches from mine. He's staring at my lips with a wrinkle in his brow as if he's trying to figure them out.
"They're just lips," I explain. "They don't really do anything."
And then he's leaning down and I'm leaning up and I feel his lips just barely brush against mine. They feel so good and soft so I grab the back of his neck and pull down just a little bit, my short nails lightly scratching his skin. Another light brush against my bottom lip, a small puff of breath, and it occurs to me that I'm kissing Clay.
I'm kissing him and every moment has been leading to this. It feels so natural that I relax and feel my limbs go limp as the moist inside of his bottom lip rubs against my upper lip. It seems too easy, this gentle slip and slide, and I wonder what the fuck I've been worrying about so much.
I grunt as Clay stops holding himself up and just falls on top of me. His first tentative kiss turns into more as his lips touch mine again and again, his leg sliding up against mine, his hair soft between my fingers.
He doesn't hate me -I think I can assume this by the way his hand is rubbing my hip in small circles and his mouth is ravishing mine with small smiles and soft sounds- and I'm not freaking out too much. He's not going to hate me tomorrow, right? Fuck it, I don't care.
A moan escapes my mouth as it opens under the soft pressure of his lips. His hand comes up to touch my face as his tongue slips between my lips, his thumb pressing at the corner of my mouth. Mmm, beer and salsa is a good combination, I think as his agile tongue presses against my teeth and licks the roof of my mouth. I just lay there and take it, contributing a little tongue-action of my own, letting my hands grip his shirt for dear life.
His mouth disconnects with mine with a soft pop. He traces my bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, his thumb later following the same path, pressing against my slick and swollen skin.
"Happy birthday, Robbie."
A lot of time and effort went into this chapter. I think this was the hardest chapter to write so far and it probably took the most time to write. I'm pretty satisfied with the way it came out, which is pretty much how I had envisioned it all along, so I hope you can forgive me for the long wait and the (maybe a little too) long-ass chapter. I hope this story is still entertaining…
(Love you guys!)